
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

ChapX^^Copjright No 



Shelf. 



■.Us. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



poems. 




HORACE WEBSTER MORSE 



POEMS 



BY 



REV. HORACE WEBSTER MORSE. 



Each simple mite of efPort true. 
To swell the onward moving tide, 

Of what of good, all have in view, 
Must, by its own worth, be tried. 



CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 
1898 



76 5 1"^-^ 



Copyrighted, 1898. 



M(W 



'^ym )) 






PREFACE. 



THE following Poeins are published to yratify 
(I desire to have them in printed form. 
They lay no claim to literary or poetical merit., 
and are published, simply for ivhat they are. 

With two or three exceptions they have been 
written since four score and jive years of aye. 

Writing them has served for occupation and 
amusement during leisure hours of declining age. 

To such a^ may have the opportunity to peruse 
thein^ the Author leaves his kind regards. 

HORACE WEBSTER MORSE. 



CONTE^NTS. 







PAGE 


Preface .... 


• 


• 


3 


Introductory 


• 




i) 


Prospective 


• 


• 


11 


The World our Home 


. 




i:j 


Wisdom .... 


. 




14 


Cot among the Hills . 


. 


. 


17 


Light .... 




• 


•Jl 


]5oy and Man 


• 


• 


22^ 


The Voyage of Life . 


. 




24 


Friends of my Youth 


. 




2G 


Reflections 


• 




2S 


Retrospect 






m 


A Fable 


. 




;i2 


The Preacher 




• 


34 


God in Nature 


. 


• 


4(1 


Dedication Verses 


. 


. 


42 


The Mother's Lament 






44 


The Mother 


. 


• 


4(> 


Flowers, The Emblem of Life . 


• 


48 


Jameson's Vision 


. 


. 


50 



CONTENTS. 



The Silent Voice 

Korth Reading 

Brevities 

The Robin 

Chehnsford 

The Stranger 

My Brother 

Life and Change 

An Incident 

Our Home 

Vain Ambition 

The Man of Wisdom 

The Look-Out Hill 

Temperance 

The Brook 

Forest Brook 

The Park Brook . 

The School Boys 

The Lesson of the Leaves 
The Lesson of the Deer 
The Story of the Hunter 



PAGE 

55 
61 
68 
69 
75 
79 
83 
87 
89 
93 
95 
99 
101 
106 
109 
111 
114 
119 
124 
V27 
132 



1[ntro&uctot^, 



I write not for praise or profit. 
Nor to grace the poet's page, 

But, to while away leisure hours, 
Of life's declining age. 

I've followed out no line of thought. 

In fancies' flowery fields. 
Life's purpose has rather been to find 

What moral science yields. 

To glide smoothly o'er prospect glebes, 
To please the common mind. 

Is pleasant work indeed, but not 
Of the most useful kind. 

To elevate our race and improve 

The means ot doing good. 
Is simply drawing nature's laws 

Into action understood. 

Our possibilities for progress 
And improvements, still lie. 

Far. far beyond their present reach 
In the earth, sea or sky. 



10 

INTRODUCTORY. 

All tendencies of the true and right 
Move the world's better thought, 

And tend to reach conditions higher. 
By all good people sought. 

Principles received in the mind, 
From tlie present, or the past, 

Should be tlie pure, nobler kind. 
Fit to live, and fit to last 

The progress of the world, may 

Just expectations fill. 
But, 'tis feared, human nature 

Will be human nature still. 



11 



fIDtecellaneoue ipoeme* 

prospectiv)e. 



These stray Poems, now returned, 
A place in my regards have earned, 
With type, and ink, gold or vapor 
They are anchored here on paper. 

In book form with no special fear, 
They may go to friends, far or near, 
To be read by some, if not all, 
Or, like leaves in late autumn, fall 
To encumber, or enrich the ground. 
Where their presence may be found. 

Or be read, or slightly glanced o'er 
With careless heed if nothing more. 
Or, on damp dusty shelves may lie. 
Or, as waste, throwu careless by. 

They have served their day with me. 
And now go out as servants free. 
And, let their fate be what it may. 
They've busied me for many a day. 
And thankful sure I ought to be. 
For health and strength this day to see. 



12 

PROSPECTIVE. 

At eightj^-seven years of age, 

Eyes dimly glance o'er printed page, 

And what was once, both clear and plain 

Will never bless, and cheer again, 

With the same clear and perfect view, 

As long had been its wont to do. 

In days when health and strength did bless 

And nature made a deep impress. 

On ii mind, sensitive in view 

Of what was lov(4y bright or new. 

Thus time is doomed our strength to steal — 
Slioi t time, its loss, we have to feel, 
Tis wise to improve what we have, 
And whnt kind heaven still may give. 

When work is done, for good or best 
I'he workman may retire to rest. 
So here drops the long-used pen. 
It may. or not, be used again. 



Ube wotl^ our bomc. 



The world is our home, no bound 
Should free, and noble thought surround, 
There we are, or where we roam, 
The world of thought is still our home. 
Thought, in effective work, should soar 
Far beyond what lies at our door, 
There is so much of human need. 
In grace of growth, we well may heed — 
So much good in its nature lies. 
Unimproved, and neglected dies — 
So much that needs the school of time 
To improve, soften and refine — 
So much of evil, unrestrained. 
And so little of conscience gained. 
With so much, good sense might choose. 
To cultivate, and not abuse. 
That, where we are, or where we be, 
A lively sense of humility 
Should inspire to aid along 
Each noble and each wise reform. 



14 



Mtsbom, 



The light foreshadowing coming days, 
Amid the dark of seeming ways, 
As the uncertain drift of mind 
May indicate, or is inclined. 
Should be, in wisdom's balance held, 
That suffering loss be not compell'd, 
That discord in our plans flee away 
And darken not the prospect day. 

'Tis wisdom to be wise in youth 
And reap in age the fields of truth, 
Knowledge is what we know of things. 
Wisdom's seen in what its use brings. 
Its want is no less seen and known, 
When misused, or into evil thrown 

Life lived as kind nature rules 
Outstrips, by far, the light of schools. 
And thus brings blessings from above 
Thro' merit of the Father's love 
May wisdom then its dictates prove 
And life move along in its groove 
Till the highest aim of life be found 
And age of gold the world surround. 




THE AUTHOR'S BIRTHPLACE. 



Cot among tbe Ibills, 



Nestled among New Hampshire hills 

Was many a pleasant cot, 
Which, in our kind remembrance 

Should scarcely be forgot. 

They were rude sheltering places, 

For families in the woods, 
With naught, save courage heart and hope, 

And a few house-hold goods. 

It was a place of Avise selection. 

Of mountain hill and river, 
Where nature had impressed the smile 

Of the eternal giver. 

In the day, or twilight evening, 

Gardner's mountain, in view, 
Shadows the prospect of the north. 

Or it seems so to do. 

Here, the waters of the Ammonoo.siic 
Mingle with Connecticut's tide. 

Which, winds its quiet way around 
Fertile fields on either side. 



18 

In the east rises Moosilaiike's 

Storm beaton, summit top, 
Looking in its sullen grandeur 

O'er many a lovely spot. 

In the earlier times, before the woods 
Were cleared, or roads were there, 

The settlers made the river stream, 
A useful thoroughfare. 

Boats of merchandise and pleasure 
Sailed its waters, up and down, 

Aloug its flowing, winding way, 
By every bordering town. 

Here, the early settlers gathered in, 

Amid hardships manly toil 
They cleared the woods, and four.d fields 

Of rich alluvial soil. 

They were a hardy set of men, 

Did the best they could 
To improve, in their wild home 

Of mountains, hills and wood- 
Here timber lands and giant pines 

Were to them means of liviug, 
With proper use they were the source 

Of nature's kindly giving. 



19 



But now, alas I those giant pines 

Have passed away and gone, 
And the forests, well denuded 

Are like weakness from the strong. 

Those early settlers too have passed awa}' 
They had their ups and downs, 

Were wise and brave, and well to meet 
The world's indignant frowns. 

Now, from those cots among the hills, 

Children Avent bravely out, 
To fight the battles of life, with 

Varying success, no doubt. 

We need the course of no one trace 
Each went his own chosen way, 

Mostly all have found their ended race 
And we hope a heavenly day. 

Under parental, watchful eyes, 
They lived their morn of youth 

And drew from toil, earth and skies, 
A sense of right and truth. 

Witli many a sigh, when youth had passM 

They thought of early times, 
As best, no doubt, if not the last, 

In heaven's wise designs. 



20 



In wa3'S, time and chance directed, 
Hastening on towards tlie end, 

They filled their place, if not well. 
There's left no chance to mend. 

Hardship's tears that oft dimned their eyes. 

Were bravely brushed aside. 
And onward still they pressed, for blessings. 

Without hardships toil denied. 

The enjoyment of blessings from 

Hardships toil endured, 
Is among the nobler gifts 

To human souls secured. 

Grudge not then the small enjoyment 

The humble toiler gains, 
Tis the reward of honest worth, 

The gold of noble aims. 

And thus, this world of ours moves on. 

Generations come and go, 
All are useful in their turn, to Avork, 

The will above, for man below. 



21 



XtObt. 



The light that kindly comes to me, 
Is thro' the means I have to see, 
The absence, or loss of eye-sight, 
Does not include a mental night. 
The mind can roam free as air 
Thro' its own fields of thought or care. 
And in its means of self employ 
Reap the pleasures of sense, or joy — 
Life's highest source of real good. 
Its needed nourishment and food. 
Without the aid of mental light 
Where can be found the sense of sight 



22 



:fiSo^ an^ /iDau. 



I was born a frail, slender child 
Amid surroundings new and wild, 

Where humble parents spent life's day, 
l^ived, died, and passed away. 

From the darkness of total night 
My mind went out to gather light. 

At hrst took in small space around 
Thro' observation, sense and sound. 

Obstacles to progress A\ere near — 

My friends, my solace and good cheer, 

They urged along my tardy growth 
As good Angels under oath. 

I've seen the toils of labor sure 
And treachery we can't endure, 

And stood among the great and good 
Where honest worth was understood. 

I've mingled with the rich and poor 
Stood in the mansion's open door. 

And my voice hath oft been heard, 

Where sympathy the soul hath stirred. 



23 



I've mingled with the high and low 
Where conceits are apt to grow, 

And in all conditions fonnd 

Some good insj)iring sense or sound. 

With the learned and unlearned 

I've toiled for the bread I've earned, 

And found, with the wise or unwise, 
No honest work should we despise. 

With the lowly and the great 
I've passed along in spite of fate. 

To a name and a position, 
Of respectful recognition. 



24 



TTbe IDopage of Xtfe. 



The month of May again comes ronnd, 

In the whirl of years; 
And nsnal blessings still abound 

Amid our hopes and fears. 

Upon the surging sea of time, 
For four score years and four, 

I've sailed along the compass line 
Nor yet have reached the shore. 

Its rougher storms of wind and Avave, 
Thus far, I've safely passed ; 

And now, myself I hope to save 
From such, unto the last. 

By aid of Providence divine 

Fve passed thro' cloud and storm ; 

Yet joyous days have oft been mine, 
Hope to cheer, heart to warm. 

I've seen the changes of life's day, 
Its light and shade, its good and ill. 

And miss the friends who've pass'd away 
" Of sacred memory still." 



25 



With many a word and kindly clieer, 
With many gathered flowers, 

They cherished hope, and banished fear 
Along the darker hours. 

And now, methinks, hastening, full soon. 

Down behind the western hill, 
The brighter sun of sultry noon 

Will soon be set and still. 

Then will come the final sleep, 
The Avorld moves on as before, 

The ocean still its motion keep, 
And life continuous, evermore. 

The spirit's home will then be found. 
In kind wisdom's wise decree 

The best for all, the world around, 
And, better still, thus to be. 

Now, thanks to many friends we've met, 

Most cheerfully we render. 
But, to the Friend above, are yet 

Due, thanks, more kind, more tender. 



26 



fftten^5 ot m\! ^owtb. 



Friends of my youth, I seem to see tliee still, 
I seem to see tlie liomes in which we dwelt. 
And many things, and scenes our memory fill 
Which were in the past enjoyed and felt. 

The old school-house, woods and play-grounds, 
Stand up in memory's retrospective view ; 
The merry laugh, the sport, and joyous sounds, 
Seems as of old, to thrill me now, as new. 

And yet we've changed from youth to age, 
The days that then seemed long, now are short, 
And the things that did our fancy most engage, 
Are the last to which for comfort we resort. 

Gradual is the change from youth to age, 
We hardly realise its passing on. 
Its progress moves, nor halts at any stage, 
But to what's before, presses us along. 

We realise the change of night and day; 
'Tis commonplace, and makes no deep impress. 
Yet we hasten on life's uncertain way. 
Blind alike to coming good or deep distress. 



27 



The present time is all the time we have, 
We may improve it, wisely well or fair. 
In doing works of benevolence and love ; 
Or, in building castles in the air. 

The mind is, indeed, a savings' bank. 
From which we may draw to suit our will, 
And cater to the higher, or lower rank. 
For the good we need, or place we'd fill. 

And the friends of our youth, how have they 
Drawn from this mental bank of theirs ? 
Much in regard to which we may not say, 
They went their w^ay, and ruled their own affairs 

Many on life's journey have fallen by the Avay, 
From youth's home they scattered here and there. 
In distance scattered round, their ashes lay. 
While others may survive, we know not where. 

But this we know, or think we do, the love 
Of the Father, working thro' means below. 
Will gather all into his home above. 
And crown the purpose of the God we know. 



28 



IReflecttons- 



My life has been a life of care, 

Its work done, ill or well. 
In wisdom, wise, unwise or fair, 

It, of itself, must tell. 

But this much, to say, Fm moved, 
Of my works and my ways, 

Some have censured, some approved, 
And some but faintly praise. 

This life, of course, will soon be passed. 
Its worth may not be found. 

In what may have been grasped, 
Or in vain empty sound. 

'Tis much to pass this mortal life 

To feel its want, and face 
The envy, the evil and the strife 

That curse the human race. 

I see the strife, I feel the wrong 

That secret lies in wait. 
To rob the weak, to shun the strong — 

And gain for self create. 



29 



But this mixed, turbid world of ours, 

In wise decree of fate. 
May, like drizly storms and showers, 

Prelude a better state. 

'Tis well to be one's self, and feel. 
To stand in conscious worth. 

Of honest praise, and bear the seal 
Above, and not of earth. 

Then, while life continues holding out. 

For good and noble ends. 
Will seek, and heed mid dark and doubt. 

What honest truth commends. 



30 



IRetrospect. 



Things that pleased us, m seasons past, 
Delight and please no more. 

Yet, their influence seems to last, 
Tho' past, in years four score. 

The ear grows dull ; music's softer strains 
Scarce our inner senses thrill. 

Yet, in their remembrance remains 
A source of pleasure still. 

The song of birds on us is lost. 

Which, once thrilFd our soul ; 

Ic marks effective change and cost, 
Of years that circling roll. 

Flowering shrubs and blooming trees 

No longer cheer our sight ; 
The soothing of the morning breeze 

With-holds its once delight. 

Tho' step be strong, and senses firm, 
As tho' they'd hold forever. 

Yet, we soon must surely learn. 
That change is moving ever. 



31 

Both spring and fall come hastening on, 

We scarce take note of time, 
Soon they'll merge and hasten into one. 

In misty sense combine. 

Yet, nature seems attractive still, 

'Tis holding things by might, ^ 

The struggling of a wear-worn will — f ^' 

A pretence of solemn right. 

'Tis sad we cannot feel and do 

As in our youth we could. 
But time is hastening all things thro", 

Complaint will do no good. 



32 



H ffable 



A little seed, dressed in fuzzy fur, 
Not much unlike a chestnut bur, 

Went sailing thro' the air, 
A flying bird, seeing it, thought 
To put it in his empty crop, 

But in mercy it did spare. 

So, falling to its mother earth. 

Was nourished, and gave timely birth. 

To root, and stalk and stems ; 
And thus bore, and matured rich seed, 
As if the world had greater need 

Of real food than gems. 

And yet, both are good in their place ; 
(lems for the fancy of our race. 

And food for man and beast. 
That such was the purpose, we fiud, 
Of a Providence truly kind, 

Is faith's continual feast. 



A FABLE. 33 

NoAV, in tlie history of this seed, 

There is much more than church or creed. 

Hath brought the human mind — 
Relative to the ruling cause, 
And adaptation of nature's laws — 

To produce the good we find. 

It then becomes us to be wise — 
The lesson sure Ave ought to prize, 

As wisdom from above — 
Sense of mercy given birds, for use, 
With earth's power to reproduce. 

Are equal gifts of love. 

The voice that kind nature speaks 
In heart's affections, wisely seeks 

To plant the good they need. 
For life's highest purpose, to secure. 
And make more doubly plain and sure, 

From what we should be freeVl. 



34 



Ube preacber. 



Amid liills and mountains wild, 
Where nature's earliest mornings smiled, 
Lived a youth of modest mien. 
Whose quiet ways were often seen ; 
Some 60 years ago. 

He went to schools, such as they were, 
when book learning made no great stir. 
And what was there by chance obtaiiied. 
Served to show what might be gain'd 
Some 60 years ago. 

'Mid prospects dark and slim, alone. 
In him was noble purpose shone 
To fit and prepare a timid mind 
To work some good among mankind. 
Some 60 years ago. 

He studied Greek, and Latin too, 
And other things no doubt he knew. 
For perseverance in him found, 
Desire for learning, good and sound. 
Some 60 years ago. 



THE prp:aciiek. 85 

In the Christian cause, soon engaged, 
He mingled Avith the young and aged. 
Who had before him fought their Avay, 
Opposed by errors, old and gray, 
Some 60 years ago. 

Then like his Master, in his day. 
When in Judea Rome bore sway, 
He went round about, doing good, 
As true and honest servant should, 
Some 60 years ago. 

Religious errors long prevailed, 
Which had the peace of faith assailed, 
Bringing distress to minds bereaved, 
And all thus cheated and deceived, 
Some 60 years ago. 

Deep and dark superstition reigned. 
Doing much of evil unrestrained, 
For which, no conscious soul could pray, 
Not even when in a wrathful way. 
Some 60 years ago. 

Amid such dark prospective views 
The Preacher preached the good news 
Of great joy, which, believed, was to be 
The truth, that should make people free, 
Some 60 years ago. 



36 THE PREACHER. 

He fought the errors of the times 
Which disturbed believing minds, 
And, with views of heaven blessed, 
Sought to cheer the souls distressed, 
Some 60 years ago. 

With reasons both strong and clear, 
He made the gospel truths appear 
What the will of heaven designed, 
A p'uide and comfort to mankind. 
Some 60 years ago. 

Yet persecution did its best, 
The work of humanity to suppress ; 
And, in public view keep in force, 
What of evils was the source. 
Some 60 years ago. 

Liberal Christian views were opposed. 
To reasons voice, ears were closed. 
But, in the line of this good work. 
Did no one conscious duty shirk. 
Some 60 years ago. 

Inspiration led them on tlieir way, 
In numbers few — a host were they — 
They saw in faith of Christian truth, 
Peace for age and joy for youth. 
Some 60 years ago. 



THE PKEACIIER. 37 

To believers in the good cause, 
Was more than formal creed or laws, 
In the call, to the weary, distressed. 
Come unto me, I will give you rest. 
Some 60 years ago. 

Some no doubt this call began to hear. 
And to shake shackles of debasing fear 
From weary limbs, of minds deceived 
And to rejoice in views that freed. 
Some 60 years ago. 

Nature's finer sense of feeling. 
Kinder, broader light revealing. 
Did a more hopeful faith create 
Than the old eternal doom of fate, 
Some 60 years ago. 

Thus rays of nature's sense reveal'd. 
And conscience in the soul appeal'd. 
From darkness, to the realm of light. 
As blindness longs and seeks for sight. 
Some 60 years ago. 

Principles cruel, long thought sound, 
False as cruel, were joyful found. 
And in the march of public mind 
Were well, and thankful left behind. 
Some 60 years ago. 



38 THE PREACHER. 

Tho' principles in creeds arranged, 
Have not much as yet been changed, 
Yet, all preaching, 'tis confessed, 
Has tended to the better and the best. 
Since 60 years ago. 

Heaven and hell, 'tis not denied, 
Are in this world of sin and pride. 
To escape the one, the other gain. 
Should be the chief end and aim, 
P'or our good here below. 

Whether sin in this our world. 
Which is, among other planets whirled, 
Gets its full deserts, here, or no. 
Is what the Preacher does not know 
Now, nor 60 years ago. 

As life's dim candle slowly burns, 
Nearing the socket, reason learns, 
'Tis little here we can control 
And much less that satisfies the soul. 
Since 60 years ago. 

And now the Preacher's work is done, 
His mind goes back to where begun, 
He lives again the flowing years. 
At times in joy, at times in fears. 
As cruth alone can show. 



THE PREACHER. 39 

And what awaits in the hereafter, 
Whether joy, or supposed disaster, 
He trusts that, whether there or here, 
God the Father will be near, 

As we suppose to know. 

And not only so, he feels sure. 
The Father's mercy will endure. 
And whetlier here, or whether there 
No one can drift beyond his care, 
As we suppose to know. 



40 



(Bob in IRatvxte. 



Flowers that in our fields grow, 
The time to blossom seem to know, 
As tho' reason had taught them so. 

The vine that reaches for support 
Does not distrust its own effort. 
But, of design, gives sure report. 

Trees tend upwards to the sky 
As tlio' intelligence were nigh, 
And yet, they surely, know not why. 

Why does the robin, clear and strong. 
Pour forth its early morning song. 
And, joyfully, its notes prolong ? 

Who, the voice of the canary gave ? 
Or, sense of hunger food to crave ? 
Or, gives force to the ocean's wave ? 

Mountain rivulets mingle into one, 
Rivers form'd, into oceans run. 
Claiming right of way, as first begun. 



GOD IN NATURE. 41 

The earth turns on its daily round, 
Surely in its own orbit bound. 
And no rest, or fatigue is found. 

The moon, regular, with no excess, 
In time or distance, as express, 
Rounds the earth, it can do no less. 

The sun gives the light of day. 

When darkness comes light fades away. 

Yet, returning, makes no delay. 

Man also in his orbit moves. 

And, his OAvn reason it behoves 

To accept what God in nature proves. 

We therefore find that all things move. 
In their own sure and wonted groove. 
And can no better ways improve. 

God, in all that moves, is the whole. 
The life, the being, and the soul. 
Will he not wisely, his own control ? 



42 



DeMcation IDerses. 



Lord our God, giver of all good, 

We humbly bow to thee. 
Life, light, and source of spiritual food 

Are gifts of thy decree. 

Our Fathers w orshiped thee in groves ; 

Temples not made with hands, 
'Tis thus devotion's spirit roves, 

In hearts, and in all lands. 

Now, this chapel, thy people here 

Have been inspired to raise 
Thro' love of Thee, and not thro' fear. 

We dedicate to thy praise. 

When here, in prayer, the preacher bows, 
May every ear attention give. 

And his discourse of truth arouse 
New life, and soul to live. 



DEDICATION VERSES. 43 

And when the children here do meet 

For instruction divine, 
In virtues paths guide thou their feet 

And make them wholly thine. 

Now Lord, for this chapel, gift of thine, 

We offer heart-felt praise. 
May worshippers here improvement find 

And blessings crow^n their days. 



44 



Zbc /lDotbet'0 Xament. 



I do not want to die in spring 
As flowers are coming out ; 

Much of joy and pleasure they bring 
Our pleasant home about. 

I do not want to die in spring 
As flowers begin to bloom ; 

And early birds come round to sing : 
The thought chills a dying room. 

'Tis hard to part with things so dear, 
My family, friends and home ; 

Of earthly things they are most near. 
And in my heart alone. 

My flesh is weak and sight near gone, 
I would not die in spring ; 

I know I cannot linger long 
For the pleasure flowers bring. 

Would that I could live to nourish 
In my garden bed, sweet flowers ; 

Loveingly they'd grow and flourish 
'Neath heaven's gentle showers. 



THE mother's lament. 45 

In giving varied floAvers birth, 

Nature is exceeding kind, 
They scatter beauty o'er the earth, 

And give pleasure to the mind. 

And no less kind does nature seem. 

In giving this gift of ours, 
To appreciate and esteem 

Its lovely blooming flowers. 

Yet, I am sinking and must die, 
In my pleasant chamber room. 

Kind and loving friends, good-bye. 
Heaven's flowers soon will bloom. 

Deeper darkness gathers fast about, 

Early birds begin to sing. 
Lovely flowers are coming out — 

And, mother had another spring. 

It was a spring unlike our spring. 
Its flowers fade not, nor die, 

And angel birds continuous sing- 
In its realm beyond the sky. 

It was a spring mine eye hath seen 
In glad visions of the mind, 

Where all is lovely and serene. 

And all souls God's presence find. 

The spirit world need give no fear, 
Tho' above our mortal sight ; 

And partings here but bring more near 
Needed faith's diviner light. 



46 



Ubc /Rotber. 



The family's life and light hath gone, 
We could not keep her here, 

An unseen hand hath led her on. 
But she indulged no fear. 

Calmly and quietly she went. 
Complained not, shed no tears. 

As if, kind heaven strength had lent, 
To repress anxious fears. 

The home is dark and lonesome now. 
Since she has passed away, 

And yet it seems, some way or how. 
She's only gone, not to stay. 

But 'tis all delusion, we know. 

She will 4-eturn no more. 
But unto her we soon shall go. 

She's only gone before. 

Kindly taken, as was her will. 
Where she was born and bred, 

And there her form lies cold and still, 
'Mid cherished kindred dead. 



THE jMOTIIEK. 47 

An humble stone noAv marks the place, 

Sacred to memory dear, 
Affection's steps there oft we trace. 

With many a falling tear. 

Both sportive youth and reverent age, 

There linger, passing by. 
And scarce restrain from memory's page. 

The tribute of a sigh. 

Worth and virtue, in life departed, 
That hath unconscious shown. 

Thus, make kind and tender-hearted, 
With goodness all its own. 

To earth returns its kindred dust. 
The spirit to (lod who gave — 

A God all gracious, wise and just. 
And infinite to save. 



48 



jflowers, tbe lEmblem ot %xtc. 



Some flowers blossom in the night, 
Their nature is to shun the light, 

To live and pass away. 
Some blossom in the early morn. 
Yet, ere noon, fade, and are gone, 

And, have had their day. 

Some live on thro' the day till night, 
Then wither at the close of light. 

And they too pass away. 
Some hold, till night tips the scale 
Toward the morn, then in darkness fail, 

Yet only have their day. 

So it is with the human race. 
Time moves along its wonted pace. 

And all have their day. 
The child God did in mercy give 
Slender, delicate, too frail to live 

Passes in morn away. 



FLOWERS, THE EMBLEM OF LIFE. 49 

Some, on times onward floating line. 
Scarce live till noon's hastening time, 

Ere they have passed away. 
Some pass on thro' the day of light, 
And hastening to the noon of night 

Find their closing day. 

So it seems by the decree of fate. 
Both the early blossom and the late 

Simply live, and pass away. 
The infant child, 'mid hopes and fears 
Or, veteran of an hundred years, 

Both live and have their day. 

Now, we ask, in the sequel. 
How is this inequality equal ? 

Just to all in its way ? 
'Tis beyond the ken of mortal sight 
Yet, 'tis so, may, and must be right 

In the light of eternal day. 



50 



Jameson's IDtsion* 



As old Jameson, in liis hammock lay, 
His mind went wandering back, 

O'er scenes and things, that lined the way, 
Of his accustomed track. 

He, in vision saw, old and new, 

And stranger things he saw. 
Which, brought to more conspicuous view, 

Would shame the face of law. 

He saw the changes time had wrought 

In what did still remain. 
And to himself, most thankful thought, 

Truth and right are still the same. 

He saw the principles of social life. 

That underlie moral good. 
Neglected thro' debasing strife, 

Or scarcely understood. 

He saw the ruins vicious habits made ; 

The dissipation and distress. 
That lined the way, the cruel raid, 

And thougtless rabble press. 



JAMESON'S VISION. 51 

He saw the wrongs, with many a sigh, 
Which, stood forth, far and near, 

And from his sympathetic eye. 
Fell, the sad sorrowing tear. 

Here and there, rank injustice reigned. 
That stood in view, quite near ; 

From evil scarcely none refrained — 
Of law none seemed in fear. 

He saw justice trampled down. 

And victims groan and sigh. 
When there seemed no mercy near, 

Save mercy from on high. 

He saw the unfortunate, distressed ; 

The worthy treated with a frown — 
And how the many were unblessed. 

Where evil wore the crown. 

The cunning thief, less conscious grew. 

Grasping ill-gotten gain ; 
When, from all experience he knew. 

Right is right all the same. 

He saw the form of ungodliness, 
Walking in the light of day ; 

He saw Old Evil hug and caress. 
What he thought to make his prey. 



52 JAMESON'S VISION. 

But, truth and right can never die — 
They will ever be the same — 

When all things else in ruins lie, 
Eternal principles remain. 

Here Jameson's vision met a change, 
And swept broader fields of light ; 

No less surprising true than strange, 
'Mid scenes of spiritual sight. 

Tho' wrong and outrage came to hand. 
At every turn his vision made. 

There seemed beyond a fairy land, 
Of spirits undismayed. 

He saw oppression, outrage and wrong, 
All subdued, exhausted, dead ; 

And heard a sweet angelic song. 
Mingled with no tones of dread. 

His vision saw the end of things 

On this our earth below ; 
And the glory perfection brings. 

Which nothing less can besto 



w. 



Perfect reign of harmony and peace 

All evil did disperse. 
So Jameson's vision did increase 

To embrace the universe. 



JAMESON'S VISION. 63 

The people of all the nations 

Were mingled into one, 
And their language at all stations 

Into harmony was run. 

People, their selfishness forgot, 

All discord was unknown. 
And rights, for which all nations fought, 

Away like chaff were blown. 

O, happy time I Union of worlds. 

And all created beings. 
The universe no longer whirls 

Amid our selfish seeings. 

He saw star-like rays of gladness, 

Reflected to the earth ; 
In view of its change from sadness 

To that of heavenly birth. 

Here Jameson's vision came to stand ; 

His mind to change of thinking, 
And he saw things, on every hand. 

As ships at sea, sinking. 



54 JAMESON'S VISION. 

Now, Jameson, weary, fell asleep; 

His swinging hammock ceased — 
He could no longer reason keep, 

And was from care released. 

In a calm soothing rest he lay — 
He seemed again as new ; 

The old in him had passed away, 
And all Avas bright and true. 

He dreamed a sweet angelic dream, 
In fairy worlds his own ; 

So deep, so quiet and serene. 
He awoke, and was at home. 



Xlbe Silent IDoice. 



A voice, a voice J seem to hear. 
It comes not thro' the natural ear, 
"Fis calm and clear, 'tis deep and still, 
It speaks thro' reason and the will. 

It comes from the sky, and the ground, 
It comes from hills and prospects round, 
It comes from trees, grass and flowers. 
It comes from the storms and showers. 
From pencilled rays of morning's light, 
P>om evening's shade and daik of night. 
It comes from flight of fleeting time. 
And change it makes along its line. 

Now, pray, what is this voiceless voice? 
Which s})eaks the way of reason's choice? 
'i'hat comes so calm, and comes so still, 
To the bidding of reason and will ? 
When conditions are all right. 
And means of perception in sight? 
That comes not thro' the natural ear? 
Is it what we should heed, or fear ? 

Hast thou not heard it, my friend ? 

And your perception neglected, to mend ? 



56 THE SILENT VOICE. 

Go to the sun, the moon and the stars. 
To Jupiter and planet of Mars ; 
See the order of nature's laws, 
All speaking their purpose, and cause. 
Has science found no voice there ? 
Then to the calm of reason repair. 

Go to the savage, learn of him. 
To the wisest and best that have been ; 
Learn the changes of tide and breeze. 
The relation of plants, and trees. 
Go, with sight and reason seeing, 
Among the grades of animal being ; 
The lion in the jungles and woods, 
Or mouse, among household goods. 
Or butterfly sailing in air. 
Or provident ant, plying her care ; 
To the worm, dying in yon street. 
Beneath the tread of your feet. 

In the nature of these combined 

What is the voice we may find ? 

It comes, from what good reason brings, 

Looking thro' the nature of things. 

In spite of all outside control. 

It comes from the inner conscious soul. 

The savage knows his way to keep, 
The beast, no poison herb will eat. 



THE SILENT VOICE. 

The worm shrinks in fear from its foes, 
And, trod upon, resentment shows. 
In these gifts and poweis, we find, 
What nature purposed, and designed ; 
It is a voice, reason's open ear, 
Can but understand, and hear. 

This voice, in reason's ear rings, 
It comes thro' the nature of things. 
Where reason fails, or ne'er has been. 
What we may call, instinct comes in. 

The pari'ot talks and jabbers glib. 
The ox knoweth his master's crib ; 
'" Vet my people doth not cousider " 
Thus sayeth the Word's inspired Giver. 
Vet, habits oft assume to rule. 
The wise man oft becomes a fool ; 
Vet the conscious voice within 
Scarcely can remonstrance bring. 
Ere some excuse out-weighs its force, 
And 6'e(f continues on its course. 

Tho' nature's voice, in silence greets 
Each conscious soul, it not completes 
The purpose of its kind design. 
In bringing joys, desired to find. 



58 THE SILENT VOICE. 

This voice, that speaks the right, 
Is in the soul, 'mid shades of night ; 
Tho', coming from all nature's scenes 
Throughout God's universe of means. 
And, owned by every sense of ours 
When allowed their natural powers. 
Yet, treason to its rule we find. 
In many apparent noble mind ; 
' Tis oft subdued, and overcome, 
And generous purposes undone. 

It speaks — it speaks — through the wronf/ 
Though shades of darkness are more strong. 

It is the small, still, silent voice 
That speaks the way of noble choice. 

Let hope then, its course pursue. 
Aiding on to the realm in view, 

Where the dark of all earthly hells 
Is lost in what peifection dwells. 




North Reading 2n(i Congregational Church. 



01 



Hortb IReaMng, 



In town of Reading — North by name — 
Not unknown to historic fame — 
There lived an early race of men, 
Worthy of remembrance, now and then. 
They built houses, loved and liv'd their day, 
And, like other things, they passed away. 
Yet not in vain their lives were run, 
They others left in charge of work begun. 

They had many noble traits of mind, 
And were quite religiously inclined. 
For life's government they had rules, 
And for children established schools. 
A church they soon erected near. 
To worship in, thro' love or fear, 
And feel a conscious duty done 
To both the Father and the Son. 

Soon, learned pastors they did call, 
To teach them morals, one and all. 
The first, with them, called to dwell, 



62 NORTH READING. 

Were holy men, and served them well. 
For a time 'mid doubt and strife, 
They broke to them the bread of life. 
At times 'twas crusty, hard and old. 
And seem'd wrapped in ancient mould. 

It was the Calvinistic kind, 
Not easily digested by the mind. 
Yet, 'twas most generally received, 
As true, of course, if not believed. 
Thus rev'rent, aged and beloved, 
They pass'd to their final rest above, 
And are still oft alluded to, 
Amonc: the Town's most ao-ed few. 

Then other pastors called took their place. 
Each running his peculiar race. 
For longer, shorter space of time. 
As pleased their fancy or their mind. 
But, in course of time, came a change. 
In the thought and broader range 
Of observation, among many, who 
Sought for what was right and true. 

Seeking for their most sacred needs, 
They found much outside the creeds ; 
Principles of a genial kind, 



NORTH READING. 63 

In nature's teachings, they could find ; 
Its voice to them was that of love, 
Coming from wisdom, from above. 
Thro' the cheering aspect of things 
They saw what responsive nature brings. 
And found a light, in nature's light. 
Beyond all self-conceited sight. 

Then a new preacher came to hand ; 

On consistent views he claimed to stand — 

Young and unassuming in his way, 

Yet, thought it duty much to say. 

Of truth, right, God and heaven ; 

For to reason, such right was given. 

So, for the people's highest good. 
Presumed to teach what he understood ; 
And led on to the noble thought. 
The thought of living as we ought. 
In man there was a moral light. 
To be preserved and kept bright. 
Life was a gift to be enjoyed 
And its highest purpose not destroyed 
Thro' errors in our faith or wavs 
While numbering out our passing days. 

Thus did the youthful j^reacher preach, 
And, the heavenly way tried to teach — 



64 NORTH READING. 

Duties, most sacred to our race, 
Were his, in his time and place. 
He married the young who wed ; 
And the needed word kindly said 
To the sick, bereaved and distressed. 
To lighten burdens on them pressed. 

But the scenes of his youthful day — 
A long, long time since passed away — 
Yet, in remembrance, he oft goes back. 
And wanders o'er the same old track ; 
The people all are with him still, 
And in the church their places fill. 
In the old pulpit he seems to stand, 
Bible before him, and in his hand, 
The book from which hymns he read. 
To be sung well ; as often said. 
And with feelings warm and new, 
Much of the old time he goes thro'. 
And still seems to walk streets and ways, 
Where nature spoke the voice of praise. 



Now, Reading North, thy growth is slow, 
'Tis yet, enough, for us to know. 
Thy village is a pleasant place 
With many a kind and comely grace. 
In the centre, on a plot of ground. 



NORTH READING. Co 

With lovely prospect all around, 
There, still, in its place, doth remain — 
The old, old church of ancient fame. 
O'er hills, rises the morning sun. 
Thro' its vale doth the Ipswich run. 
In summer a winding stream. 
In winter, a pond it doth seem. 

On, thro' the bridge, it winds it way ; 
Sluggishly, both thro' night and day, 
Till it reaches the ancient mill, 
Venerable, but useful still, 
Where grain for bread is ground ; 
And forest logs are often found, 
To be sawed into plank or board, 
As the owners wish, or can afford. 

Shoe-makers' shops are scattered round. 
Where many soles are faithful bound. 
Where industry and thrift have place. 
And contentment runs its quiet race. 



GO NORTH READING. 

On the nortlieni, hill, border side 
Forests stretch away, far and wide ; 
And orchard trees blossom every year, 
And autumn fruits give health and cheer. 
A lovelier place can scarce be found, 
Where peace and comfort may abound ; 
And hills and vales in beauty stand, 
The pencilled work of nature's hand. 

O, Reading North ! Kind regards for thee 
I have. Friendly thou hast been to me. 
In my early and youthful days 
Diffident, with unpolished ways, 
I found in thee a genial home 
And did not feel as one alone ; 
For good warm friends around me came 
With generous hopes and kindly aim. 

My years with thee were pleasant years, 

Witli content, and no disturbing fears ; 

My cottage home was dear to me, 

And wife and children all were free, 

To enjoy pleasing prospects, round 

A place wliere were peace and comfort found. 



NORTH READING. b/ 

And now, O, Reiiding North, where can 

Be fonnd, the noble band of men 

And women, who fifty years ago, 

In days of youth rejoiced to know, 

That, the purpose of God above. 

In their existence here below. 

Was in accord with what of love, 

And in what of goodness they saw, 

In nature and in nature's law. 

As manifest in works around 

And in their own affections found ? 

Where ? Where are they ? Many have passed 

To where all must go at last — 

Have been called from scenes of earth 

To the realm of spiritual birth ; 

And may the Father whom they knew — 

Keep and bless the surviving few. 

Greenwood, Nov. 1896. 



08 



JBtevities* 



The opening flowers of spring, 
Natnre's sense of beauty bring, 
And autumn's ripening fruits. 
The anxious hope sahites. 



The worth of manhood onward flows, 
As mind in sense and vigor grows, 
The upward, onward course we know. 
Finds its source in lion est work below. 



Xlbe IRobtn 



On the sunny side of our home 

There was a garden plot, 
With trees and shrubbery, we own 

It was a lovely spot. 

One spring, when, passed winter's gloom, 
And all seemed bright and new — 

And orchard fields were all in bloom, 
A robin came to view. 

It had come from the southern clime, 
Where to escape winter's cold, 

It had tarried for a season's time, 
Till spring around had rolled. 

It flew around our garden trees, 

At morn, noon and eve ; 
And seemed to be at perfect ease. 

And did not care to leave. 

Coming from the south it needed rest, 

It looked the trees around. 
For a place to build its nest, 

And soon a place it found. 



70 THE ROBIN. 

In apple-tree, nearest our cot, 
It built its warm-lined nest, 

Laid its blue eggs, and on them sat. 
Kind and calm, as at rest. 

While there, her lovely robin mate. 
Hovered around, with patience strong 5 

And did not forget, each night and morn, 
To cheer us with his song. 

Soon, as proper time was n eared. 

As trustful hope expected, 
Little robins from the eggs appeared 

And were not neglected. 

Both birds, now busy, gathered worms — 

And the young they fed. 
As each from the nest, in turns, 

Stretched up it wadling head. 

Farcing well, they grew, feathered out, 
And began quite well to look. 

Soon, as was best, we have no doubt, 
Leave of the nest they took. 

Yet the old ones hung round the place 

Till time for emigration ; 
As if they liked each kindly face 

Near that humble station. 



THE KOBIN. 71 

For a number of years, each fall, 

They went south ; and each spring- 
Returned again to greet us all, 
With joyful songs to sing. 

But, by and by — they seemed quite old, 
Their feathers tinged with white — 

Earlier they left, to escape winter's cold. 
And ne'er returned to sight. 

When spring came we mourn'd their los? 

They had become our family. 
We wondered if they'd met sad cross, 

Or, what their fate mio-ht be. 

They were birds of good intelligence — 

Had the mechanic art — 
Built nests, with .skill and elegance. 

And well in life, did their part. 

In devotion to duty and kindness. 
And nature's governing laws. 

Their examples rebuke our blindness. 
And challenge our applause. 

Lovelier seemed our cottage home. 

When they hovered round. 
And more we felt as not alone. 

More sacred seemed the ground. 



THE ROBIN. 

To teach mankind their ways to heed 
They doubtless have been given : 

So upward and onward, as they lead, 
May be, the way to heaven. 

From nature's voice 'tis distinctly heard 

As from the voice above — 
The robin is a sacred bird, 

An emblem of creative love. 

He should therefore be protected ; 

He does for us what he can — 
His kind work is ne'er neglected- 

He is the friend of man. 




Unitarian Church, Chelmsford, Mass. 



CF^elm^torD, 



O, Chelmsford ! toAvn of many varying parts ; 
Friend of progress and the manly arts — 
Mother of thy neighboring city of spindles, 
Compared with which thy importance dwindles. 

Many pleasant scenes, thy rural prospect gives, 
And much enjoyment within thy border lives. 
Thy morning sun rises o'er eastern hills. 
And thy fair proportions and prospect gilds. 

Thy people have been patriotic found 
In their country's need, they did its flag surround. 
Brave and loyal in their depths of soul, 
Liberal views did their works and ways control. 

At the north iron works and cotton mills stand. 
Where employment's given to the willing hand. 
Here the church raises its steeple to the skies, 
And things exist to please observing eyes. 



7b CHELMSFORD. 

At the west, cotton mills take tlieir place, 
And people in many callings run tlieir race. 
Here were manufactured bright polished swords 
For soldiers who met the rebel hordes. 

At the south there lies the famed baptist pond, 
Stretching its waving waters round and beyond ; 
And Robin's Hill o'erlooks its eastern slope. 
Where oft refreshments meet the anxious hope. 

Then comes the old, old centre, of the town, 
No less famous than what doth it surround ; 
In honor of soldiers of the revolution. 
Here stands a monument of fine execution. 

On a rising plot of ground stands the church, 
For good preaching, further, we need not search; 
In its desk once our privilege was to preach, 
And the truths of sacred scripture try to teach. 

Seven years, in our place, we preached the word. 
While rebellion's sounds of war were heard ; 
And onward still, and beyond to the close, 
When tired nature needed sought repose. 



CIIELMSFOKD. U 

Our sermons, Avritten out, were thought correct, 
And had, it was presumed, desired effect ; 
Here a good deacon always stood in prayer, 
And, each Sunday people knew he was there. 

Whether it was from devout principle or pride, 
We will not unlock his bosom to decide : 
*Tis enough to know he was a Christian man. 
And had the good of all mankind in hand. 

Here too, stands a good Libra' building, one 
Given the town by a generous noble son. 
'Tis an ornament of which it may be proud : 
To which the people should for knowledge crowd. 

The star of progress doth its light here spread : 
Steam, and electric cars, thro' the village thread. 
Frugal people here, have, and still do dwell, 
Coming generations may their virtues tell. 

Many things here are for pleasure and for use; 
And the soil, cultivated, good crops produce. 
And orchards yeild the best of golden fruit. 
The epicure's tastes to please and to suit. 



78 CHELMSFORD. 

The forests stretch a prospect far and wide, 
And nature in wisdom here did preside ; 
In shaping hill and vale, pond and brook, 
And giving all a pleasing comely look. 

The people, led by their own desires, 
From father's sons, back to aged sires, 
Have, unconsciously, for their own good. 
Worked, for the good of all, as is understood. 

Thus the town has stretched its winding way, 
From its early dawn, to the present day ; 
It has had its gradual onward growth, 
And of prosperous men, and things, had both. 

And now, like the morning rising sun. 
It awaits to pass its meridian, on 
To its far distant, western, setting bound. 
To what it then may be or might l>e found. 

And now, O Chelmsford, a town of varied scenes 
Healtli and plenty, and of generous means ; 
Where schools, and churches, well abound : 
Ma}^ blessings thy good works and ways surround. 
1895. 



TLhc Stranoer^ 



A stranger through a village passed, 
Before his vision, first and last, 
Were many and various things. 
Considering which instruction brings. 

'Twas here and there flowers were seen. 
Cultured in the park or green; 
The native lily vied with the rose. 
And asters waived in shining rows. 

The pink, pansy and creeping vines 
Stood forth as witnesses and signs 
Of taste, refinement, self-respect. 
Of a people sharing no neglect. 

The peach, the cherry and the plum, 
On garden trees securely hung, 
And well-conspired to give a sense 
Of culture, thrift and loveliness. 

The streets were lined on eitlier side 
With things for use, and things for pride ; 
All of which, spoke in various ways, 
Of progress in our modern days. 



80 THE STRANGER. 

Various teams were here and there, 
And market men seemed holding fair, 
Their goods of various kinds to sell, 
Time O'day to pass, or news to tell. 

Streams of men hastening to and fro. 
From street to street seemed to go. 
As if some phantom of the mind, 
Had forced the loss of all behind. 

To gain some object just before — 
The leading thought, if nothing more. 
The magic force of wants real, 
Or the blind force of things ideal. 

The streets were broad and straight and long 
And birds were there of varying song. 
And trees were standing here and there, 
Graceful, waving in the morning air. 

It was a scene of busy life, 
To stir and urge a sense of strife, 
Or, the dominant force of mind. 
New sense of life, or soul to find. 

But of all on the vision pressed, 
(^ne, more prominent than the rest, 
Was a building of presence good, 
Indicative for what it stood. 



THE STRANGER. 81 

High upon its dome, above the trees, 
Waving, graceful in the morning breeze. 
Was no disshrivelled, cast off rag, 
But the country's honored flag. 

Issuing from its doors was seen. 
Of boys and girls a lengthened stream. 
Filling lane and street, far and near, 
With merry laugh and hearty cheer. 

At this, the stranger, thinking, thought, 
This is wisdom, and wisely sought, 
In these school-children we trace. 
The parents of the coming race. 

They Avill go forth, the country round. 
And from their presence may be found. 
Intelligent thrift and progress, 
In all that can a country bless. 

The old red school-house had given place 
To one of artistic form and grace, 
Where fitting for life's work is done, 
And the country's wisest work begun. 

As a countries facilities increase 
'Tis well to seek a kind release. 
And go from what necessity compel'd, 
To what, it long, in prospect held. 



82 THE STEAXGER. 

'Tis well for children to live, where — 
There is for them, the proper care; 
No country has its mission filled — 
Where its youth are not schooFd or drill'd. 

A countries highest test of worth — 
Is in its means for giving birth 
To a moral, social honest state 
That alone makes a people great. 

The stranger thus observation made, 
And wiser felt as he surveyed, 
The life and progress of the place, 
Shadowing forth the coming race. 

It was the guide to inspiration, 
As to the future generation ; 
What thrift and industry create — 
To make a people wise and great. 

Thus he traveFd from morn to night — 
Observing well many a sight — 
As to what this world might be — 
Observing honest industry. 

The honest work, where all combine, 
Doomed to serve, or raised to shine, 
As in each case the chance might be, 
Makes a people wise, just and free. 



8.3 



/lO^ Bvotber* 



I had a kind and generous brother, 

Who bore the image of a sainted mother ; 

In form and manners, lovely and refined, 

With all the graces of a noble mind. 

But ere his manhood's strength had fully come, 

Or the work of his life had scrace begun. 

The chill of death had thro' his system passed, 

And he sadly, lovingly breathed his last. 

As on the feverish bed of death he lay. 
And his strength had nearly ebb'd away, 
A cloud flit past the sun — obscured the light — 
'' It's growing dark," he said, '^ it's coming night;" 
And in his altered voice and mournful tone. 
We saw what to him was not unknown, 
That the coming dark, and night of warning. 
Would be a night to him, with no morning. 
Save that, whose early dawn and golden sun 
Thro' imperial ceaseless circles run. 

And conscious that his end was soon to be, 
''Have you anything," he said, ''to say to me?" 
In sorrowing grief, sadly murmuring low, 



84 31 Y BROTHER. 

I could only answer, ''I do not know, — 

My brother," what else, I said, or seemed to say 

From my unconscious mind passed away ; 

Then, raising his sad eyes the window thro', 

And taking in an outside scene to view, 

With lingr'ing look— the import none could miss — 

i^ What a beautiful world," he said, '^ is this !" 

All nature seemed more lovely to his view 

As nearer to life's hast'ning close he drew. 

And amid this scene of life's parting worth. 

What tender, kind regards were given birth ! 

He longed to live, to tarry longer here. 

Not for self alone, but those loved most dear. 

In the anguish of his soul, then and there. 

His lips were moved, they moved in prayer. 

We listen 'd-^' O Father !" audible he breathed. 

What more to us his quivering lips bequeathed 

We could not comprehend, except to find — 

His spirit to the will above resigned. 

And just before his eyes were closed in death. 

With faint, and fainter growing breath, 

He breathed the words, " O my dear brother !" 

These were his last — he spake no other. 

Amid sad hearts the usual rites were said. 

In its last, long resting place, the body laid. 

And there, in deep, expressive silence sleeps, 



MY BROTHEK. 85 

Unmindful of him who writes and weeps, 
Yet, rays of comfort, sure in liope would find 
That, not unconscious is the risen mind. 
Tho' long years since have fled and pass'd away, 

Not so, the memory of that parting day. 
For since his absence, in this world of strife. 
There has seemed something wanting to my life, 
A want which naught on earth seemed to meet, 
To soothe my mind and make my life complete, 
And in some manner, in some way or how — 
His spirit's image is before me now ; 
I seem to see his face, his noble form, 
I seem to hear his words of kindness born, 
I seem to see hies injured feelings moved — 
When unjustly wronged, censured or reproved ; 
But no complaint or harsh word breathed. 
With deep, silent, inward grief he grieved ; 
And with kindly smiles for both friend or foe, 
And feeling all not perfect here below. 
He generously forgave the wrongs of others, 
And was in truth the best of brothers. 

To the oppressed and poor he was ever kind. 
That there was wrouo^ or want he m-ieved to find^ 
Of his own wants, he took but little heed. 
But deeply sympathized with suffering need. 
Some two years younger, he was in truth, 



86 MY BROTHER. 

My playmate all along the paths of youth ; 
And when to maturer strength he'd grown, 
His deep, loving sympathy, I grieve to own. 
Was more exorcised for me, in kindly deeds, 
Than for his own more immediate needs. 
His memory sure, I can but sacred keep, 
For where I am, when I wake or when I sleep 
He's by my side, or in my fevered dreams — 
Naturally as in life to me it seems. 

With me also, this life will soon be o'er. 

My pulse of life is beating — beating slower. 

I feel the sad effects of wearing time. 

My brother's fate, indeed, will soon be mine, 

But in what time to me shall here be spared 

May I improve, and wisely be prepared. 

For discharge of duties yet undone, 

And a kindly generous course to run. 

In hope of meeting those who've gone before, 

Where lov'd and loving meet, to part no more. 



87 



%itc auD Cbanoe* 



Life seems a changing mystery, 

It quickly glides away, 
Its past is completed history. 

The future, a coming day. 

It will come, and may never be 
The hoped for, and expected, 

But such as may survive, will see 
Neither stage of life neglected. 

Change flows to meet coming change, 

In the flow of nature ; 
And yet it doth not derange 

Powers above, less or greater. 

Tho' change meets change at every turn 

As life goes flowing on, 
Yet we may surely feel or learn 

Nature's kindness all along. 

The accute sense of youthful feeling 

Gradually dies away; 
Then comes on the kind revealing 

Of a brighter hopeful day. 



88 LIFE AND CHANGE. 

So nature tries to equalize 
With aid of spiritual sight, 

And make all life a real prize 
Thro' both its shade and light. 

The youth, all hopeful, sallies forth, 

And in the future lives ; 
The old plod on, with more of worth, 

Of what experience gives. 

Thus, life in every stage, may find 
Just and sure equivalent. 

In comforts natural, or in mind. 
For all seeming discontent. 



89 



Hn IFucibent 



I took a walk in Hubbard's town one day ; 
And, seated on the grass beside the way, 
I saw a poor, a lonely looking man, 
Yet, he smiled as contentment only can. 
He had a queer pack of duds and things — 
Drinking-cup, knife, and rags tied in strings. 
'•^ A pleasant day," he said, " to take a walk 
To meet a friend and have a social talk. 
From Maine I've journeyed through many a town. 
In distant York I hope to sit me down ; 
There I was born, and there my mother, too, 
Whose kindly, anxious care in youth I knew. 
Being tired, weary as you see, and sore oppressed 
With heavy load, Fve halted here to rest. 
'Tis hard to travel, to wander far and near, 
With money none, nor kin, nor fiiend to cheer. 
Yet God is good, He by day feedeth me, 
At night I sleep beneath his canopy." 

Alas I thought I, what faith and humble trust I 

What noble intellect has gone to rust ! 

Here are talents v/hich mio-ht have o'raced a kino- 



90 AN INCIDENT. 

Yet obscured, dimmed, and lost like other thing 

Where the good is overcome, subdued and rul'd, 

And the mind's (ZiS--order, not its order school'd ; 

For such I conceived to be his case. 

With form of perfect mould, and fair of face, 

With sense of good, and of heaven's care, 

Content, alone to wander here and there. 

His knife, and tattered rags, and drinking-cup, 

To him the want of all things else made up. 

Poor as he was, the poorest of his kind ; 

Yet far the richest of the rich in mind, 

For, as he passed, by inclination bent, 

Through the country, all was his where'er he 

went. 
The earth's carpets of green for him was spread, 
And for liim alone the skies were o'er his head ; 
Flowers bloomed, and with fragrance filled the air 
As if mindful of his presence passing there ; 
Birds sang in branch and tree to cheer his Avay, 
And sunshine, rain and cloud, night and day. 
Were each and all with simple purpose moaut 
To var}^ life and make his soul content. 

And is not delusion such, with many a soul — 
Who claims his life is right, his mind is whole ? 
Who sees things in a dim or double light, 
Is never in the wrong, but always right ? 



AN INCIDENT. 91 

We must confess that craziness of mind, 
Though not in all the same, is craziness in kind. 
Some are crazed by spiritualistic views. 
Some by passion's dark or deeper hues ; 
Some on points of religious duties done, 
And some on stronger points of gin or rum, 
Some are crazed on points of money-getting ; 
Or doubtful schemes — in aiding or abetting ; 
Some by vice and vicious ways beguiled, 
Who once the gifted, great and good, were styl'd. 
While jealousy breathed forth its withering rage 
And murders thought and peace at every stage, 
And improvidence and want go hand in hand, 
Ever tending downwards, to a vicious band. 
Where law and order find no bindi]jg force. 
And wretchedness and ruin, the things of course. 
Thus the w orld gaily ^ sadly moves along, 
As seen by differing minds, both weak and strong; 
And craziness in one, by whatever name we call. 
Is but, in differing kind, the craziness of all. 

Such the lesson from this incident I drew. 
So, turning homeward, all refreshed and new 
From my morning Avalk, I could but think — 
What real good to find, what comfort drink — 
From the fact, 'mid human woes and human 
dreads. 



92 AN INCIDENT. 

That so many have apparent level heads 
And strive to mitigate the ills of life — 
To quench the hidden embers of slumbering strife, 
And make the tending to the good and great 
The joyous premonitions of a perfect state. 



9B 



©vir 1bome» 



I have a curiously wrought house or home, 
Its foundation is not of brick or stone ; 
Its structure, of differing parts is made. 
Having each, their separate use and grade ; 
And their own separate course to run 
Yet constitute and harmonize in one. 
Tho' not over graceful or elegant 
Yet it seems to look and speak intelligent ; 
Not thro' stately size, or imposing form, 
Tho' well bred, and of noble parents born, 
It speaks in a far more decisive way — 
Than through what observers might think or say. 
Its structure, curiously wrought and made. 
Has, within its self, the fount of reason laid ; 
Its proportions indicate right and wrong. 
And gives a contrast, of the weak and strong, 
And breathes a sense of constructive art 
Beyond the reach of human head or heart. 
In it the plain and graceful well combine 
Yet indicate the march of wearing time ; 
There is in it, of life, a general flow. 



94 OUR HOME 

Which, does not always smoothly run or go ; 
A want of harmony is sometimes there, 
In spite of vigalence or constant care. 

It comes thro' more or less deviations 
From natural laws, that govern its relations ; 
From thinking man, down to the senseless clod, 
Heaven is harmony with the law of God. 
Our house is thus one, in which, all thing^s move. 
Not in one continuous perfect grove. 

Its most valuable properties inside dwell. 
The visible is but the out-side shell — 
The dwelling place of the soul within ; 
And home of the noble spirit that has been. 
The binding tie of friendship here below 
Amid the evils that in life's path- way flow. 

It shelters oft from harm, or raging storm. 
And is no less than the owners human form ; 
The house, the home of all, that, in wisdom's plan, 
Constitutes and makes the living man. 



1)5 



Dain Hmbition, 



There is that in the human soul 

Which, for higher life aspires, 
It seeks to .nurture self-control. 

And all our best desires. 
'Tis what we surely would commend, 

A principle, in its place. 
The best and most progressive friend— 

Among the human race. 

Such is its nature ti^perverted. 

Its sjDirit, past and now. 
But how sadly oft deserted, 

When to fancy fashions bow. 
When blind fancy soars, less or much, 

Like some deluding curse. 
It brings into more familiar touch 

With what makes all evil worse. 

Some are vainly anxious to be thought 
As possessing all the graces. 

That are in social circles taught 
In higher life or places. 



96 VAIN AMBITION. 

Some, in pride of wealth or race, 
See the cause for great esteem, 

When the life, gives no special trace 
Of inward virtue seen. 

Some pride themselves on grace of form, 

Some on higher grace of mind, 
While some love flattery, good and warm. 

With small regard to kind. 
Some admire to see themselves in print, 

'Tis craze for advertising ; 
But the public mind, with out stint. 

Gives to each, the proper sizing. 

In gaudy dress, some like to glow. 

With colors, mix'd, dark and red. 
But, they only fancies' fashions show 

The leading bias of the head. 
The slender waist, and broad shoulders 

Rising massy from the breast. 
Fill the minds of all beholders 

With the wearers need of rest. 

Some make pretence of great learning 
Thro' fashions, schools have whirl'd, 

And, with self-conceits discerning 
Book it thro', and round the world. 

When, along the line of culture's light. 



YAi:^ A3IBITI0X. 97 

They, only, thro' darkness see — 

Shapeless visions of a darker night, 

Than in ignorance well could be. 

Much of life's vain struggle, seems to be 

For value, for what is not, 
The seller of his goods will see — 

In them, more than he ought. 
The Lawyer, Doctor, Clergy too. 

With Degrees bought, ne'er earn'd, 
Will oft pretend to be, and do — 

Move than the skill'd and learn'd. 

Oft struggling on, with anxious aim, 

At much expense and cost. 
Thro' vain ambition's view, is fame. 

And its acquirements lost. 
None can surely be above themselves, 

Fix it any way we please. 
That which in conscious honor dwells. 

Needs no inflating breeze. 

Tho' it be not ours to inherit. 

Wealth, or ancestral state. 
Yet there's much of kindly merit. 

In the thought of living great. 



VAIN A3IBITI0X. 

To climb the steep, and cleyious way 

To favor and renown, 
Amid wolves, that on virtue prey, 

Would be gain of royal crown. 

'Tis the valid true and real. 

That secures greater praise, 
Xot the vain conceits claim ideal, 

To superior worth and ways. 
In Plebian garb, or on throne, 

That some-thing of true worth, 
Tho\ all unconscious of its own, 

Gives admiration birth. 

1896. 



Ubc /iDan of mts^om♦ 



There lives a man in social park, 

Who sees with two eyes ; 
And yet, is always in the dark. 

Unless onr story lies. 

He walks secure, stumbles never. 

Has his own peculiar way ; 
He is old, will live forever. 

So all the neighbors say. 

A man of wisdom sure is he, 
With head full of knowledge ; 

There's nothing which he might not be, 
For he has been to college. 

Wonderous wise, in self-esteem, 

As to all things 'round him ; 
So in darkness gropes, which might seem- 

Sufficient to confound him. 

The present world, to him, is indeed. 

No complicated mystery ; 
He takes it all in as decreed — 

In nature's history. 



100 THE MAN OF WISDOM!. 

Its storms, tempests and eartli-quakes, 
Are but youtlifiil aberrations, 

And, admonitions for our sakes. 
Of its final desolations. 

The planits which, in open S23ace, 

All intermingling run, 
He thinks, may wander in their race, 

Or, fall into the sun. 

He sees beyond this little world. 

What no one else e'er saw. 
Marvelous things, thei-e unfurled, 

By force of eternal law. 

With all the streets, lanes and by-ways. 

In the world that's to be 
He is familiar, and never strays. 

Seeing with him, is to see. 

The busy world may well give heed, 

To such far-seeing sight ; 
It might help, in time of need — 

On doubt, to throw much lioht. 



101 




Zbc Xool^=©ut Ibill. 



The hill of hills, is our look-out near, 
It gives to vision ample prospect round. 

And breaths in language, mild, calm and clear, 
Of inspiration in its presence found. 



By name of Sugar-loaf, 'tis often known. 
Rises abruptly from the level ground. 

With forest trees, and shrub'ry overgrown. 
Birds and rabbits liere have shelter found. 



102 THE LOOK-OUT HILL. 

The crow, in times of storm, here bends its flight, 
Birds of prey, for game, here lie in wait 

And owls and bats make hideous the night, 
With screechings ominous of impending fate. 

It was, and is, a picturesque and noted place, 
Around which hangs tradition's mystic veil, 

As dark mists hang around its rise and base 
When angry storms, clouds, and winds prevail. 

The Indian's camp fires here were lit 

To cheer, amid the dark of moonless night, 

Around which, with loquacious squaws, they'd sit, 
And talk of love, and ghosts, till morning light. 

Here too, the children wild, around its base. 
With eager haste, and arrow shooting bow, 

The bird, or nimble squirrel, oft would chase, 
Or, from its top, hurl rumbling rocks below. 

In olden time, before the white man came. 
The Indian, in his own broad domain. 

Loved to fish in ponds, or hunt for game 
x\long the hillside, or on the level plain. 



THE LOOK-OUT HILL. 103 

In the deep, primeval, o'er arching woods 
He bnilt hi.s rnde cabin, children and wife 

With faithful dog, were his most precious goods. 
The joy and solace of nature's rudest life. 

But these scenes were doomed to pass away. 
In course of coming time the white man came. 

For Indian life, he brought a changeful day. 
And with his virtues, much of different name. 

Hence the extinction of the race began. 

With sad encroachments on their huntino- 
ground. 

Contention's strife, in conflict channels ran. 
Westward retiring-soon there'l none be found. 

And now, around the Indian's look-out hill 
The white man's dwellings dot the level plain, 

The electric cars run thro' the streets at will 
And many such like chano-es mark our aain. 

With electric lights the streets are lit, 

To guide along night's more uncertain way. 

And give taxpayers a spasmodic fit 

As they near each coupon paying day. 



104 THE LOOK-OVT HiLL. 

Mingle d with the old, faces new are seen, 
From various and varying nations come, 

A strange surprise, as strange as midnight dream, 
Yet premonition, of city growth begun. 

The busy tread of busy men, to and fro. 

Children hastening to school, or play at ball. 

Or thro' dusty streets on circling horses go. 
Makes the sum of progress-yet not all. 

The church spire to heaven points its way. 

Parks, avenues, hose house and buiklings new, 

And more we hope, has come to stay. 

Around the look-out hills' prospect view. 

Yet from its misty top' so dark and gray. 

Oft darts the greed}^ hawk, for chickens near, 

And many dogs, at large, around it stray. 
By what right divine, it is not clear. 

In each dark night, with feeling sad and strange. 
The natives passed this hill in silent fear, 

Beneath its shade of highest range. 

The Great Spirit lived, so dread, so near. 



THE LOOK-OUT HILL. 105 

Amid its shapeless, shadowy uplifting, 
There was much of mystery concealed. 

Whispering winds, o'er its summit drifting, 
Xaught to their minds, but pending ills 
reveal'd. 

Now dwellers here, may climb its steep ascent, 
And view its craggy rocks, and prospect o'er, 

If on curious search, or inclination bent. 
As Indians, long since, have done before. 

But the savage dwellers, once here, are gone. 
And thus, it is devoutly hoped will go 

All remnants of savage life, or wrong- 
That may still be lingering here below. 

As onward moves times' resistless tide, 

So should progressive progress move to find 

All the possible good that was denied 
To the dark and dead, we leave behind. 

Now, rising grandly in prospective sight. 

To such as w^ould in grace and virtue rise 
Our look-out hill is still a beacon light. 

Pointing upward and onward to the skies. 

1895. 



106 



IE:emperance< 



A friend of temperance, through a local 
paper, offered a prize for three of the best essays 
that might be presented on the question — '^ What 
do you get for rum"? Seeing the notice of the 
award to the successful competitors, the follow- 
ing verses were written on a slip of paper, hand- 
ed in, and published in the same paper. 



We ask, ^* What do you get for rum "? 
The seller gets a generous sum, 

But the buyer — what of him ? 
He may be good and sober still,^ 
Pay each and every honest bill. 

But the chance is very slim. 

What we ask, for rum do you get ? 
Bruises, pains, aches and regret 

Are pretty sure to come ; 
Crime, the court, prison and the jail. 
And other evils, Avithout fail, 

Are what vou get for rum. 



TEMPERANCE. 107 

A boy becomes the family's pride, 
Grows to a man and takes his bride, 

And all is harmony and joy. 
Bnt soon acquires a taste for rum ; 
His honors gone, disgrace has come. 

And he in sin's employ. 

A man staggers in our streets, 
An offence to every one he meets. 

Directly from the liquor slum. 
The mothers weep, the children cry ; 
Pity sadly turns away its eye, 

Such's the price you pay for rum. 

What we ask, do you get for rum ? 
Delirium tremens — wretched sum. 

Nervous system all undone ; 
Trembling, staggering and blindness. 
Exciting sympathy and kindness. 

For foolish use of rum. 

Who can but weep for the mighty sum, 
Of wretchedness that's paid for rum 

Fills the good with despair. 
And who would aid, and who abet, 
This source and root of vast regret. 

In our midst and every where. 



108 TEMPERANCE. 

It seems so decreed that its use 
Leads to quarreling and abuse, — 

The bane of social order. 
Burdens humanity's generous aim. 
Pills with the ^' blind, the halt and lame " 

Almshouses in our border. 

To indulge in the glass or sip 
Invites, from the enemy's ship, 

Your perfect wreck and ruin. 
Its whole broadside, of shot and shell. 
The cruel instruments of hell. 

And all evils thus ensuing. 

In this direction advice shall run, 
Let all and every mother's son 

Liquor shun. On whom lighteth 
Iium,s pernicious taste, he is surely 
On the ways of death prematurely. 

In which none delighteth. 

Now, friend Kendrick, you gave the prize, 
'Twas well and generous in our eyes. 

And worthy of our applause. 
For it is plainly understood. 
It will do much of real good, 

And help the temperance cause. 



100 



Ubc Bvoo\\. 



The occasion of the followino- verses was 



ill the Park, with old cast off Eail Eoad 
Sleeiiers. 



In Greenwood Park, a little stream 
Flows onward, limpid, pure, 

To reach the ocean it may seem 
All hopeful, proud and sure. 

In summer's heat, 'neath burning sun. 
Its channel dr}- and dusty. 

Let no one think, its well worn run 
Will ne'er be full and lusty. 

In winter time when rains come down 
Aud winter snows do melt, 

It overflows the adjacent ground 
And all life again is felt. 

At such a time, the Prophet fears 
Its surging, angry waters, spilt. 

Will undermine the bridge's piers 
On Greenwood granite built. 



110 THE BROOK. 

And in spite of all the keepers, 
And whatsoever else may be, 

Strew old railroad sleepers 
Hastening onward to the sea. 

O beautiful, beautiful brook I 
Why wouldst thou thus annoy ? 

Searching every crevice, dell and nook 
And works of men destroy? 

Wilt thou be curbed, in limits bound 
When overflow transpires ? 

As well might nature's laws be found 
Worthless as vain desires. 

'Tis thy part to flow and murmur on. 

What thou hast been, still be, 
As in days of old, long by-gone 

Hastenino" to the distant sea. 



Ill 



jforest Broof^- 



^' There are sermons in stones, 
Books in the running brooks 
And good in every thing." 



Mid hills and vales the forest brook 
Moves along its winding way ; 

Nor yet has faiFd, nor way forsook 
Since times earliest day. 

Its ceaseless flow from morn to night. 

Ever fresh and ever new. 
Reveals the force of natures might, 

And human nature too. 

Beneath its eddies shadowey banks» 
There lie the speckled trout, 

Singly, or in huddled ranks 
Moving at their will about. 

Anglers view them with anxious look, 
Along the banks they slily steal. 

With fishing rod, and barbed hook. 
In hopes to catch a meal. 



112 FOREST liKOOK. 

The taller trees, and under brush 

That line its banks along, 
The red-breast and earlier thrush 

Enliven with their song. 

Along border hedges, squirrels leap, 
With joyous glee, and sport, 

Gladly their holidays to keep 
In their own forest foi-t. 

Wild deer here come to quench their thirst 
From its cool limped waters. 

Here musk rats live and lave, as of erst, 
As well as silky otters. 

Thus the brook, with rural sceues, 
]\lay give much of health aud joy 

To such as choose effective means — 
To change dull life's employ. 

In time of summers sultry tide, 

Seek the rural glad retreat, 
Along the hill and mountain side, 

Where the air is cool and sweet. 

Perchance you may feast on brook-trout, 

Enjoy much of rural life 
Wandering here and there about. 
Free from care, fiee ficm strife. 



FOEEST 15TJOOK. 113 

A change from life's dull tired scenes 
Is what we quite often need, 

'Tis now and then in minds and dreams 
P^rom anxious care to be freed. 

The brooks, hills and forest fields, 
Are kind nature's gifts of love. 

And, our sense of soul reveals 
Thanks due to heaven above. 



114 



Ube pari? Brool?. 



Since others have, of musing mind, 

Deigned in verse to sing, 
Being somewhat thus inclin'd 

We our offering bring. 
Observant of life's flowing tide. 

Ambition's rush and roar, 
We deem it well for human pride 

When fancies' visions soar. 

Now rays of light dispel the dark 

And prospects new are seen. 
So, sauntering thro' our rural park 

We make its brook our theme. 
Flowing streams have oft in glory shone 

And wrapped in bright renown. 
What might have else been left unknown 

Of ancient realm or town. 

Old Jordan graced Judea's lands 

Flowing to a briny sea, 
At the base where Mount Moriah stands 

The Kedron stills flows free. 



THE PARK I',ROOK. 115 

The Tiber, and Rubecon, the same 

Where Caesar cast the die, 
Have borne a proud inspiring fame 

P"or which our brook might sigh. 

At Alpuie's pearly mountain streams 

Where wild w^olves slack their thirst, 
And bald eagle's piercing screams 

On affrighted chamois burst. 
There, much of contrast sure is found 

To nature's milder views, 
Where, 'mid parks, brooks and cultured ground 

Ease and comfort all may choose, 

Then, art and skill may well combine 

Streets to grade, trees to plant. 
The wayward winding brooks confine 

And nobler graces grant. 
But art and skill will scarce prevail 

Where honest nature f rowans. 
Where meagre winds but swell the sail 

And selfish greed abounds. 

'Tis generous thrift, with noble aims. 

From which improvements spring- 
That smooths the rough, the wild i-eclaims. 
And joyous pleasures bring. 



116 THE PxVRK BROOK. 

Thou art, O brook, of rural park 

At once its joy and curse, 
Born of damp and mirey swamps tliou art 

Aiid frogs' and reptiles' nurse. 

Yet, under wise control and generous flow 

Mip'lit nurture oarden shrubs. 
And cause each root and plant to grow 

Like corporation clubs. 
Thou flowest on, thro' all daylight, 

To clieer the dwellers nigh, 
And lull the tired to sleep at uight 

Murmuring tliy lullaby. 

No merchant ship or fishing craft 

Hath yet thy waters tried; 
If so, the fishes well had laughed. 

And all the frogs beside. 
Yet fearless boys have launched their ship 

Where the breakers fell. 
And eagerly watched to see it skip 

Around the planked canal. 

Thy waters, when not riled, are limped ; 

When not wild, thou art calm ; 
When within thy borders crimped. 

Thy wrath gives no alarm ; 



THE PA UK r.KooK. 11 ■ 

P)ut when tliou dost, in angry mood, 

Defy restraint and power. 
On trouble we are apt to brood. 

To dread or curse the hour. 

Naught's so lovely as flowing streams 

When limpid calm and pure, 
Naught's so much like soothing dreams 

To help our griefs endure, 
Flowing streams add much of pleasure 

To the charms of rural life, 
And tend to calm, in soothing measure. 

All thought of worldly strife. 

The murmuring of running rills 

Thro' sense of feeling floats. 
And the languid system thrills 

With nature's sweetest notes. 
In forest woods, animals wild 

Give heed with listening ear, 
And birds on wings are oft beguiFd 

Its soothing notes to hear. 

Then, well like those of world renown. 

May our brook's fame ne'er cease. 
But wrap in joy the aspiring town 

As well the park's increase. 



118 THE PARK BKOOK. 

And as thro' time it onward flows 

May it reputation gain, 
And broaden, deepen, as it goes, 

Or miss eternal fame. 

But prospects new greet inquiring eyes, 

Avenues with shade trees smile. 
Along its borders mansions rise 

To grace our brook the wliile. 
And this the sum of visions true 

Amidst the brook's refrain, 
A city grand stands forth to view 

In fact, or fruitful brain. 



119 

V^ '•"""S''*^'^ -■'•« '*^>-v,../;. .-^i'iSKy-f.'' :i'i^.,w^'- ,u 









■I 
I 

I 



^i^'^:!i«.,:^;^;^^'^C'^^^?^^ 



Rural scenes speak their own praise 
To such, as in their early days, 
Lived amid the woods and hills 
And murmuring of running rills, 
Where wild birds notes are heard. 
And the soul of freedom s tired, 
In the presence of life that, lives. 
The natural life that nature gives, 



Scbool Bo^5. 



On scenes of youth, w^e love to muse. 
And ponder o'er our early views 
Our thoughts and doings, good or true. 
When all was lovely, bright and new, 
A leaf from which, we here will turn, 
To see Avhat from it we may learn. 



120 SCHOOL BOYS. 

In a quiet place of rural scenes, 
We dreamed our early youtliful dreams ; 
Hills and vales stretched around, 
Rivers gave a murmuring sound. 
The days and nights were calm and clear. 
In forest woods were herds of deer ; 
In runnhio- streams, were oolden fish, 
Moving round, at their will or wish. 

Kind natures presence seemed complete. 
And all the air was pure and sweet 
As the breath or morning breeze, 
P^rom the hill-side's flowering trees, 
Which blossomed each coming year, 
Scattering fragrance far and near; 
Where lovely birds chant nature's praise. 
In their evening, and their morning lays. 

Where heavens richest dews distil 
And golden flowers path-ways fill, 
Where grateful showers, life bestow 
And nature's products richer grow. 
Obedient to the will that gives 
Air to breathe, and life that lives. 



SCHOOL EOYS. 121 

Animals seemed to roam at large, 
The wild and tame in natures charge. 
The useful horse, and noble ox, 
And many sheep in droves and flocks. 
With others, of varying kinds, 
Rabbits, house dogs, and fatlin s wines. 

Nimble squirrels among the trees 

Seemed to live at perfect ease, 

From branch to branch, they took their way 

And always seemed in earnest play. 

The cunning fox the night improved 

In search of his accustomed food 

And oft went where geese were raised. 

Which, of course, the flock amazed. 

And in their fright, one would seize 

And hasten off with perfect ease, 

Leaving the owner to lament 

His small loss, in hopeless content. 

And bears were often thought quite near, 
Of whom, all justly stood in fear. 
Yet, they gave pleasure to the few 
Who loved to hunt with gain in view. 
Their skins, tanned, made garments warm 
With which to breast a winters storm. 
Their meat, it was pleasure to find, 
Was sweeter than the home rais'd kind. 



122 SCHOOL BOYS 

And birds, of various, kinds were there, 
Floating thro' the ambient air. 
With phimage bright, to sing or shine, 
At morning, noon, or days decline. 
Sparrows hover'd round each cottage place, 
And swalloAYS with surprising grace 
For insect food, winged the air. 
To live on prey was just and fair. 

Kind symjuithy had no out-burst. 

And natures claims, with them, were first. 

And so it was with the greedy hawk 

When its claws, did securely lock. 

The small bird, for mercy crying — 

In his grasp, Avrithing, bleeding, dying. 

The Thrush, the Robin and blue-bird 
Announced themselves as seen or heard. 
They hovered round domestic fields — 
Giving pleasure, their presence yields. 
Screech-owls, with eyes broad and bright, 
Prowled around for food at night. 
The night-hawk too, loud and shrill. 
Voiced the night with whippoor-will, 
And much of mingled gloom was found 
In the solemn lonely distant sound. 



SCHOOL BOYS. 123 

As it came on the evening breeze 

From tlie hill-sides, among the trees, 

As night's shadowy, sombre mantle, 

Stretched o'er fields broad and ample 

Making a paradise, for thought 

Where nature's teachings might be sought, 

And all conspired to impress 

What simple nature might express. 

Of pleasure, fancy or of truth 

To the minds of receptive youth. 

Seeking in nature's open school. 

Its life, its purpose, and its rule. 



124 



Ube Scbool ifiSops, 



Minds of youth, delicate and tender, 
To dull feelings oft surrender. 
Outward scenes, we often find 
Disturb the balance of the mind 
By some misterious look or view. 
Drawn from shadowings of the true. 
For a purpose, we may not know, 
And yet, we have no doubt, 'tis so. 




Xlbe Xessou ot tbe Xeaves. 



In this lone place of calm retreat 
Where nature's bounties seem to meet, 



THE LESSON' OF THE LEANES. 125 

With lovely charms of rural grace 
Liv\l we children of a royal race 
Ih summers heat and winters cool 
We made a quiet genial school. 

The school-house, tho' not large or fine 
Was shadow' d with tall branching pine ; 
On one-side, alder's mingled in 
With glossy leaves both broad and thin. 
Which, in dark and dismal days, 
With skies o'er cast with drizzly haze, 
Turned their under pale side out, 
Leavino' in observant minds no doubt 
That cloud and rain were near at hand 
To sprinkle both the trees and land. 

When the leave's, pale side-out appeared, 
Cominp- cloud and rain were felt or fear'd, 
And our minds led to sympathise. 
With the gloom of o'er-arching skies, 
A dullness grasped our minds about 
Like that, which seemed to reign without, 
In the skies above, around below, 
And where we chanced to be or go. 

It seemed our youthful minds to fill 
With no apparent wish or will ; 



126 THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES. 

The heavens above seemed strange and new 
The hill-sides round had changed their hue 
From lovely green, to sombre black, 
And all its own-self, seemed to lack. 
And e'en our path-way changed around, 
And familiar things deceptive found. 

So we onward pressed our way 

Amid the gloom of apparent day, 

Which seized each nerve of inward thought,. 

And in our simple natures wrought 

A sympathetic sadness — A cast 

Of mind, sure to live and last. 

An obscuring of the inward sight 
Like the dark dull of dreamy night, 
As sandy mists blind naked eyes 
And storms and clouds obscure the skies,. 
Thus in our affected minds, we saw 
A glimpse of nature's ruling law, 
And tho' the lesson, rich we own, 
We sadly felt as one alone. 



We were a clever set of boys 

Not above common plays and toys. 

Yet, our books did well attend 

And sought our boyish ways to mend. 

By instruction from natures book — 

In the near out side view and look. 



127 



Tlbe Scbool Boy9< 



In forest woods were hunters near, 
The winter days were cold and clear, 
Yet, much of seeming sport was found. 
In raiding the lone forests round, 
F'or wliat might be, by chance obtained 
Pleasure and profit, end and aim. 




Xlbe Xeseon ot tbe Beer. 



One winter's day a deer was caught. 
By the mountain hunter, who sought, 
Our school house, on the level plain, 
The deer to show, our thanks to gain. 



128 THE LESSON OF THE DEER. 

The teacher, to gratify our eyes 

Gave liberty to view the prize, 

With anxious haste, well expressed. 

We huddled out, and round him pressed, 

As children, anxious, well might be, 

Such an unexpected sight to see. 

It was a scene, sure, in its way. 

To draw our minds, from books, astray. 

We'd heard of deer in woods before, 

But none had seen, at our school door. 

With curious eyes we surveyed 

His form, in classic beauty made. 

Adapted to roam in forest fields. 

Where means of living nature yields. 

Where in seclusion deeis could live 

And hemlock boughs, food and shelter give. 

It was a noble, stately deer. 

It trembled thro' our gaze, or fear. 

Before him such a seen«^ was shown. 

As he ne'er before, had seen or known. 

In sorrowing sadness lie found. 

No kind look, or familiar sound, 

All seemed to him a scene of dread — 

Ot dark confusion round him spread. 



THE LESSON OF THE DEER. 129 

Down his furrowed cheeks, tears rolled, 
From thought, perhaps of being sold 
To some sad fate, he did not know 
Some new cruelty, pain or woe 
Or what of life or death were near, 
Or what of all things most to fear. 

Children with bright eyes, round him stood, 

With men and hounds, it mean't no good. 

His eyes, once bright, were dim with grief, 

Our sympathy gave no relief. 

He seemed and felt, no doubt as one 

In despair, with nerves all unstrung ; 

And nothing strange that he should, 

In the midst of the fear he stood. 

In the mountains free as air, 

Now a prisoner in despair. 

O ! how changed, to him the scene. 
And Avhat of evil could it mean ? 
No wonder he should down cast look, 
As tho' the earth beneath him shook, 
No wonder he trembled at our gaze 
Tho' he had our pi' ty and our praise, 
'ilio' compelled by fate to be there, 
Yet, he tliought it neither just or fair, 



130 THE LESSON OF THE DEEK. 

He'd committed no crime, stole, nor lied 
Had simply broAvsed the mountains side. 

He had for gain, no one robbed. 
His heart with noble kindness throbed, 
He had no dishonest gain received 
And no confiding soul deceived, 
Or, taken from the weak or strong 
What to himself did not belong, 
Or the rights of the poor denied, 
Yet was there with cruel halter tied 
When, as the hunters all would own 
His wish was to be let alone. 

Deeper sadness o'er him stole its way. 
His panting breath but seemed to say 
If I could only get to mountains back, 
I'd walk the old accustomed track, 
And hope to not again expose 
Myself to savage hounds and foes, 
Who make of life such sacrifice 
As manhood ought, and should despise, 
Thus we early saw, and believed 
A lesson rich, had been received. 
In the history of zoology. 
Making therefore, no apology. 



THE LESSON OF THE DEER. 131 

As well as in the selfish greed 

That, seeks what it may suppose to need, 

With no regard to kindly feeling, 

Or, for others Avoes, and pains appealing 

To the humanity, that should dwell. 

In breasts of men, and dogs as well. 

Or for cruelty, imposed 

On harmless animals exposed 

To savage dogs, and hunting bands 

Thro' mountains, hills and forest lands. 



U-2 



TLbc Scbool JSops. 



The rising smoke, from liuiitev's fires, 
Winds in fleecy wavy spires, 
On the evenings' mountain breeze, 
In all the pride of perfect ease, 
Above the tall surrounding trees ; 
Leaving sense of night calm and still, 
To brace anew the hunters' will. 

At morning light, and rising sun. 
The hunter's work anew begun. 
Fresh from the camp, with added force, 
He hastens on his raiding course 
With keen intent, and less remorse, 
For cruelty to animals hound 
P'rom their natural camping ground. 



Ube Ibuntet, 



A hunter, with his gun and hound, 
For game tramped the hills around, 



THE HUNTER. 133 

For six long cUiys, one winters time. 
Like fate, persistant and sublime. 
He went, where deers were wont to yard. 
With ill success, and fareing hard. 



Then tired and hungry, sought his home. 
And with his dog, and gun alone. 
He hastens on to reach an Inn, 
Where traveller's entertained had been, 
That he might find food, rest and fire. 
For such were most, his first desire. 



Slowly, wearily, moving on he goes, 
Thro' dark woods and drifting snows, 
Till, with reviving hope, he came. 
To an Inn, so called, by name. 
From frosty look, in sad disguise, 
The Inn-Keeper, with feigned surprise. 
Viewed him as a beggar tramp. 
From some distant mountain camp. 

An out-cast, a rough mountaineer. 
Whom all might justly stand in fear, 
One, whom he might and should distrust, 
From whom could fall no Qolden dust. 



134 THE IIUNTEK. 

Instead of, from the mountain chase. 

A lover of the hunting race 

Whose crack of gun, and noise of hound, 

Oft caused the mountains to resound — 

Yet, one of excentric report, 

A lover of the hunting sport. 

Then, with kind voice and bowiug hea^l. 
To the Landlord he faintly said — 
*' For six long days I've hound the deei- 
And in the storm Fve lost the track, 
Now, tired an hungry I am here 
To get the comforts I may lack — 

So could you. Sir, get me a meal ? 
That I, again, myself might feel?** 
'^ Have you money?, he inquire!; 
None others are here desired, 
If you have money, show it then, 
We deal here with none but men." 



The Hunter, then, from his purse drew 
Gold and silver pieces, bright and new. 
Which glistened in the Landlord's eyes, 
As what might be a ready prize. 



THE IIUNTEK. 135 

His rough voice, and look of dread. 
Then, chang'd, and to his servant: said, 
*' Please, quickly, get this gentleman 
A good dinner, the best you can, 
To help the needy in distress 
Merits, sure, returning kindness." 



This, the Hunter thought, illy ment. 

As what his honor should resent, 

So, to himself, he silent said, 

*' Kind treatment I need as Avell as bread. 

In spite of what we speak, or may smother. 

One good deed deserves another. 

And no less, is it strictly true. 
That insult rough should get its due, 
The gift to feel ones-self a man 
Was no doubt in kind nature's plan. 
That he might have the means to rise 
Improve himself and honor prize." 

The meal announced-then, three times round 
The table, the hunter, walked and found 
It loaded with rich savory food. 
That might tempt one in hungry mood. 



13(3 THE HUNTER. 

Then with look and voice, funny 
He said — ^' Landlord, I am no sinner. 
You Sir, have seen my money, 
And I too have seen your dinner. 
So good day '' — and with no excuse 
Went to find, where, with no abuse, 
He could get the dinner needed 
And treatment kind, justly heeded; 

And not be compelled to feel 
As criminals who, for mercy kneel. 
When no special fault can be found 
Save pleasure tramp on hunting ground, 
When the cause is no more or less, 
Than in the minds of selfishness. 

A wholesome meal he now secured 
With no rough indignity endured, 
And hastened on to his home 
Where, in comfort all his own. 
He could enjoy his humble means 
And dream anew his hunting dreams. 

Whether our Hunter was the wiser man ? 
We venture not his ways to scan. 
To soothe wounded honor, we may say — 
Supposed, or otherwise — it was his way. 



THE HUNTER. 137 

It may be wisdom, in our view, 
Wiser than what he had, or knew. 

The moral as found, we may rely 
Is, Avoid suspicion. All should try. 
Nor judge one, by dress, form or look, 
A beggar-man, a crank or crook. 
The purest gems are often found 
In dust and rusty casements bound. 

1896. 




F<JOV 23 1»38 



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